


Come Morning Light

by GoldenDaydreams



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A surprising amount of humour, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Bathing/Washing, Casual Intimacy, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, F/M, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Says "Hmm", Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Rescue Missions, Sharing a Bed, Shibari, Softer Than You Might Expect, but not in a sexy way, imprisoned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25433701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: Betrayed and imprisoned, Yennefer wasn't expecting rescue. She'd been travelling alone, and didn't have plans to meet up with anyone for months, there was no one to notice her absence.The last person she expected to walk into the dungeon was Jaskier, of course he did so necking with a guard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 55
Kudos: 510
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	Come Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

> Saw one (1) piece of [ Geraskefer fanart](https://ohciq.tumblr.com/post/623696982422290432/ohciqgarroter-jury-and-judge) and boom, new OT3.

The dungeons were poorly lit, torches far from the cell where Yennefer sat on a bloodstained cot. It wasn’t her blood, and at this point she was afraid to wonder how many others sat where she did, how long had they been imprisoned? What injuries and injustices had they suffered? 

All it had taken was one foolish moment of believing that she had the upper hand. She hadn’t trusted that prick Mathias, but their arrangement had been mutually beneficial. She’d thought that would be enough to keep him from betraying her. A grave error. She’d been knocked unconscious by one of Mathias’ men. Dried blood had clumps of hair plastered to her temple. She’d woken in a cell, and still didn’t know what Mathias planned to do with her.

Dimeritium shackles rubbed the skin of her wrists raw, but that was nothing compared to being cut off from her magic. She stood, paced the few steps she was able, and then back again. Her feet were bare, they’d taken her shoes. They’d said it was to ensure she had no hidden weapons, cited the same reason when they’d stripped her of her dress. They wanted her bare. Vulnerable. Cold in a cell. Weakened. 

She worried about her state of undress, about the way some of the guards stared while doing their rounds, feared—she forced her mind elsewhere. 

Of course this would happen during her months away from her lovers. They weren’t expecting her, weren’t waiting for correspondence. She had no plans of meeting with friends or colleagues, her presence wasn’t missing anywhere. They wouldn’t know that she was in danger. They wouldn’t know that she needed help. 

She’d be fine. 

She’d get out on her own. 

Somehow. 

Sitting back on the cot, she curled her toes, her feet ached. She let her mind wander to _them_ , blocking out the crying, the sobbing, the screaming of other prisoners. 

Geralt; strong, surprisingly sweet, soft with them—with those that mattered. That rough, deep voice soothing her soul. Sword calloused hands impossibly gentle, all too aware of the strength he commanded. 

Jaskier; sharp, graceful, lyrical, a lover who gave, and gave, and gave, and got off on it. The songs he sang in taverns, and court earned him praise far and wide, yet were nothing compared to the sounds he made in the privacy of their shared spaces. A man with a love that overflowed. 

Both she and Geralt knew that Jaskier took other lovers when they were separated. While more often than not Jaskier travelled with Geralt, there were occasions when the bard would spend time entertaining a court, gorging himself on the bountiful food and wine, and earning himself a fair bit of coin doing it. 

It didn’t bother them. Yennefer didn’t mind so long as she didn’t see it. While she found it very appealing to watch the youthful bard with Geralt, the thought of him with another left her irritated. 

So when she heard the dungeon door slam open, and heard an all too familiar moan she wasn’t surprised, but still pissed about it. 

“Oh this is so exciting,” Jaskier groaned. 

Yennefer could just barely see them as she leaned against the one corner of her cell. They were in the well lit section of the dungeon, Jaskier in the latest Novigrad style, that along with the gold chain around his neck declared he’d been doing well since they’d last seen each other. 

The bard stayed pressed against the guard even as he looked around at the items on the wall. Whips, chains, cuffs, rope—instruments of torture. Her fingertips trembled, she had hoped for rescue in her weaker moments, but Jaskier here, alone, if she called out for him, then he too would end up in a cell. She couldn’t risk it. 

The guard’s lips were on Jaskier’s neck, and she glared at her shackles. She’d broken skin trying to escape, her wrists were swollen, ached, bled sluggishly, she could feel her quickened pulse under the damaged flesh, focussed on that rather than the sweet little gasps Jaskier made. 

“Wait, wait!” Jaskier giggled. “I have the most _splendid_ idea. You’re going to love it.” He grabbed the rope from the wall. “Let me tie you up.” 

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea,” the guard replied. 

“Oh come on, where is your sense of adventure,” Jaskier sauntered back to the guard, rope in hand. “Don’t you want to reap the rewards of the unofficial eighth liberal art?” After that, Jaskier’s voice lowered, and Yennefer could only make out that Jaskier was speaking, but not what he said. 

The guard groaned, and Jaskier was gentle, slow with his bindings. It wasn’t a mess, and clearly something he’d done before. He checked the knots at the guards chest before he dropped to his knees, bringing the ropes lower, tying the guards thighs together. When he was done, Yennefer wanted to call out for him, but feared the guard screaming for help. When she’d been brought in, there had been two stationed just outside of the door. She could bide her time. While she wanted freedom, she wouldn’t risk Jaskier’s. 

“You look so good like this, all wrapped up, a gift just for me,” Jaskier said, his back to Yennefer, looking around. He walked further away, and picked up something she couldn’t quite identify, and tucked a strip of fabric into the side of his trousers, it dangled and swayed as he returned to the guard. 

Jaskier ran two fingers along the man’s bottom lip. “Open.” She clenched her jaw as she watched him thrust his fingers into the guards waiting mouth. Whatever Jaskier said next was lost to the sounds of the dungeon, a groan of pain, a woman crying. 

Yennefer closed her eyes. Jaskier could be apathetic when need be—when they needed to prioritize their lives, or Ciri’s life above that of others, but he still had a bard’s heart. She couldn’t imagine him getting off to the sounds of suffering. 

Upon hearing someone choke her eyes flew open, Jaskier had stuffed something into the man’s mouth, and that dangling bit of fabric from his pants was now holding it in place while he tied the knot behind he guard’s head. One swift kick to the back of the guard’s knees, and he fell to the floor. 

Jaskier planted his boot on the man’s neck, leaned his weight on it as he ripped the keys from the guard’s belt. His energy had entirely shifted, wide eyes, tight body keys jingling as he rushed from one cage to the next, freezing when their eyes met. He ignored every cell on his way to her, fumbling with the keys, hands shaking as he unlocked the cell. 

The door creaked on old hinges, and then he was there, hand on her cheek, forehead pressed against hers for one brief breath before his attention seemed everywhere all at once, but settling on the shackles. “You’re hurt.” 

Her head ached, her wrists throbbed, but none of the injuries were dangerous or permanent. “I’m fine.” 

It took a few tries but he finally got the shackles undone. She felt it immediately, the chaos at her fingertips. Jaskier nearly had his doublet off by the time she’d conjured herself some clothes, and boots. 

“Handy that,” he said, pulling his doublet back on and adjusting the collar. He waited, standing guard on the threshold of the cell while she started to dress.

“What of the others?” he asked, looking to the other cells. 

She knew that he wouldn’t argue with her decision. If she decided it too dangerous, too time consuming, if she decided it best to leave the others in their cells, he would. If she decided the risk of setting free the other prisoners was worth it, he would go along with that too. 

“If we let them out, what then?” She pulled on a shirt and felt moderately less exposed. “I’m not portalling them all out.”

“We have to wait,” Jaskier said. 

She didn’t want to be there a moment longer than necessary. “Wait?”

Jaskier’s responsed with a ‘hmm,’ a sign he was spending too much time with Geralt. “I had reunited with our darling witcher, and he heard of a contract from this noble via one of his servants that this noble wants Geralt not to _kill_ the Griffin terrorizing the area, but wants him to _capture_ it. The coin was good enough to entertain the thought, and while I believed it would make a thrilling story, it also sounded too dangerous. Geralt and I were arguing about it when the servants mentioned some of Mathias’ other ‘treasures.’” He turned to her then, expression darkened. “They mentioned you.” 

It was odd, that Jaskier would be here and Geralt would not. As if knowing what she was thinking, Jaskier smiled. “He told me to stay put, that he would retrieve you. You know how well I do at ‘staying put.’” He shrugged. “Besides, I figured my way was faster.” 

As if on cue, Geralt slammed open the door, blood spatter on his armour and skin, sword at the ready. 

Jaskier grabbed one of the iron bars that made up her cage, and let his bodyweight hang from it dramatically. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

Geralt looked more exhausted from three seconds of Jaskier than he did the entire bloody battle that brought him to the dungeons. “I told you to stay at the campsite.”

“And leave our Yennefer to this?” Jaskier’s chin tilted upward in defiance. “I think not.” 

Geralt glanced over at the guard who wiggled on the ground trying to get himself free. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not,” Jaskier replied. 

She could hear Geralt’s approach, but she stayed focussed on tying her shoes, even though she knew he was looking her over for injuries. All she wanted was to be out of the cell, out of the dungeons, away from this place. “Is Mathias still alive?”

“He wasn’t here when I arrived,” Geralt said. “I could find him.” 

And he would if she willed it. Something she couldn’t name crawled under her skin. Tying off her boot, she stood looking at the figures in their cages, some curled up small in the corners, some standing, pacing. “Free them.” She couldn’t offer them distance from this place, but at least she could give them a chance. 

Jaskier immediately walked off, unlocking the nearest cell. 

“Mathias?” Geralt asked. 

“I’ll deal with him,” she said. Having been taken prisoner, shackled, a kept _thing_ , he’d taken her power, made her vulnerable, and she would take back that power herself. 

Geralt didn’t argue, just stayed with her as she magically unlocked some of the cells, and cuffs for the prisoners. Between her and Jaskier they freed everyone, and they were all quick to take their leave. 

Chaos shifted to her will as she thought of safety, rest, and recuperation. A spiralling portal opened. Jaskier tossed the keys aside, and walked through first. 

Geralt shook his head. “Where is this going?” 

“The Chameleon.” 

Geralt groaned. “I’ll meet you there. I need to get Roach, and Jaskier left his lute, and neither of us want to deal with him once he realizes it.” 

She huffed out a surprised laugh at that. 

He kissed her temple. “Go. I’ll find you two.” 

“Don’t go after Mathias without me,” she said. “We’ll do it together.” 

“It’s a date.” 

She laughed, and he smiled at her. With that final image of Geralt in mind, she walked through the portal, and released the power, it snapped shut behind her. The private room above the cabaret had a cluster of candles lit in the corner, cutting through the darkness of the night. Jaskier wasn’t in the room, but the door had been left open. 

The bed called to her, she sat down heavily. After the hard cot, it was luxuriously soft. She ran her hands through her hair, blood crusted in her hairline. She remembered Mathias’ hand in her hair, forcing her to look at him after he’d stripped her bare—

“I thought you might be hungry,” Jaskier said, entering the room with his hands full, kicking the door shut, which lessened the noise from downstairs. He didn’t just have food, but a bottle of wine tucked under his arm, and from the brief look she got at the label, it was the _good stuff_. 

He set everything down on the table, and glanced over his shoulder. “No Geralt?” 

“He had to retrieve Roach and your travelling supplies. And your lute.”

His hands went to where the strap of his lute usually was. “Oh, yes, smart. Good man, he is. Wine?” 

She wanted a bath more, but didn’t know if she could deal with being bare quiet yet. Her clothes weren’t as protective as Geralt’s but it was still her armour. She gave him a nod, less because she wanted the wine, more because she hated that careful, cautious look on Jaskier’s face. She wasn’t some breakable ceramic doll. 

He retrieved a few glasses from a cupboard, poured them each a glass. She joined him at the table. While the thought of eating made her nauseous, she took small sips of the wine. 

Someone came to the door, but Jaskier looked as though he’d been expecting it. She heard Zoltan’s voice, and then the door closed again. Jaskier returned to her, a small basin of water and some cloths. “Let’s see your wrists.”

While he tended to one wrist, she started picking at the bowl of dried fruit. He chattered away while he worked. She didn’t pay much attention to the words, but allowed the sound of his voice to soothe her. 

Her wine glass felt too heavy even though it was nearly empty.

“You look exhausted.” Jaskier bandaged her second wrist. 

“Saying one looks exhausted is the polite way of telling them they look like shit.” She could barely manage the energy to glare at him. 

He took her hand as he stood. “Come on. When was the last time you slept?”

She’d lost track of time in the cell, likely days. There was no fight left in her, and she followed him to the bed, laying down over the blankets, one leg still off the bed. 

“You know, I travelled with Eskel for a while.” Jaskier’s usually expressive voice was low and monotonous. He pulled her foot into his lap, his quick fingers getting to work at unlacing her boots. “We travelled through a bog. Not my first choice, as you can imagine.” He wiggled the boot a little, removing it, and setting it to the side of the bed. He started the same process with the other. “The drowners were a nuisance—” his words became noise, and noise drifted to nothing. 

∙∙∙

Soft morning light filtered through the shutters. She shifted a little, looked over her shoulder to see Jaskier, fully dressed, on his back, mouth open, softly snoring. When she sat up, she saw the bard’s lute resting against a dresser, Geralt’s armour on a stand, and the man himself in a kneeling position that said he’d been meditating, but his eyes were on her. 

Too far away. She crooked her finger, and he rose, walked across the room, and sat on the bed next to her. Safety and strength. She placed her hand over his heart and felt the slow but steady beat. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, hand on her thigh.

“I’m fine.” She wasn’t, she grit her teeth, trembled with her rage. “I’m furious—” she felt movement, and wasn’t surprised by Jaskier brushing some of her hair aside, and propping his chin on her shoulder. “I-I should have seen it coming, I should have—” 

Jaskier sighed. “You can not blame yourself for the actions of wicked men.” 

Her hand clenched into fists. “I’ll kill him.” 

Geralt glanced to the window, and he sighed. “About that.”

“You didn’t!” she snapped, and he quickly raised his hands in surrender. 

“No, I didn’t, but we did release a bunch of very angry people who also had reason for wanting Mathias dead. Found his head on a pike on the ride here.” 

Yennefer pouted, this was her reward for a moment of empathy. 

“Ooh, what about necromancy?” Jaskier suggested. 

She smiled in spite of herself. “That’s not quite how that works, but you have the right spirit.”

After a while of quiet talk, and the physical assurance of her lovers surrounding her, she finally asked for a bath. Jaskier was always quick to pamper, and jumped out of bed to set it up. 

He did so with the kind of energy and flair she’d come to expect from Jaskier. Not only hot water, but softly scented salts sprinkled in. There were candles lit around the room, shutters and drapes shut leaving the room in a soft glow. 

Geralt had followed her to the baths, but leaned against the threshold. “Do you want us here?”

If she said ‘no’ they wouldn’t be offended. If she asked for Geralt to stand guard outside, he would. Yet, she didn’t want to be separated, not after their time apart, and certainly not after what happened. 

“Well, someone has to wash my hair,” she said. 

Geralt’s smile was the smallest curve of his lips. “That only requires one of us.” 

“I deserve my feet massaged as well.” She dipped her fingertips into the water and found the temperature pleasing. “Besides, you still have blood,” she pointed to her own jaw. “Right there.” 

Geralt scratched at the stubble in the same place. “Hmm.”

It was all so familiar, and comforting. They’d been there many times before. It was always a tight fit, three of them in one tub, the water dangerously close to spilling over.

Yennefer leaned back into Jaskier’s clever fingers as he massaged her scalp, Geralt’s thumb pressed hard along the arch of her foot, and she melted into their touches. 

She was safe, cared for, worshiped by these men who risk themselves for her. She turned in Jaskier’s grasp, got hold of his chin, and dragged him into a kiss swallowing his surprised gasp. The sound of water sloshing over the edge accompanied Jaskier’s movement, his lips aligning more precisely with hers. Considering his experience, even when she’d disliked him she’d known he’d be a good kisser. What she hadn’t expected was how all encompassing even just his kiss could be. His lovemaking always made her weak in the limbs, fiery passion with an eagerness to please. She knew how fast he could entangle her in pleasure. 

Pulling away before she could be dragged under, she noticed his blue eyes on her lips. She turned to Geralt, laid her body over his, and kissed him. By comparison, his love was like the ocean, the lapping waves exhausting her slowly until she was pulled under, too weak to continue, and drowned in it. What a delightful way to go— _the little death_ indeed. “It occurred to me,” she said between kisses, “That I didn’t thank you two.”

“Unnecessary,” Geralt said against her lips. 

She peppered his cheeks with kisses just to see him smile. “On the contrary—”

“No.” She felt Jaskier at her back, his hands on her hips. “You would have done the same for either of us.” He kissed the back of her neck, in that spot he’d found that made her shiver. “Keeping you safe is never something we need gratitude for, it should be expected.” 

“So it should be expected that we protect you?” she teased. 

“A powerful sorceress, and a witcher? Yes, of course, you better keep me, your squishy human, safe! What would you two do without me?”

“Have some peace and quiet,” Geralt muttered, not unkindly. 

Jaskier let out a surprised gasp, and splashed water at Geralt’s face. 

“You’re hardly human—” Yennefer stated, only to be cut off.

“Oh come on!” Jaskier leaned dramatically against the side of the tub so he could glare at them both. “Are we still on this?”

“Elven blood,” Geralt muttered. 

“Didn’t say a word for decades,” Yennefer continued.

“Half! And I didn’t know! You know I didn’t know! You two were with me when I found out!” Jaskier said. “Besides, the squishy part still stands.” In response Yennefer poked his middle, and he squirmed with a laugh. “Rude. I can’t believe I love you two.” He kissed Yennefer, then leaned further to kiss Geralt before standing, and climbing out of the tub. “I’m going to fetch us dinner. No playing without me.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt pulled Yennefer closer, his hand drifting down her spine. 

Jaskier feigned offense as he dried off. “Teases, both of you.” 

“There has been something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Geralt said to Jaskier as the bard pulled on his breeches. “How did you manage to tie up the guard?”

Jaskier paused a second, then continued tying his breeches. “I asked him nicely.”

Yennefer laughed at the confusion on Geralt’s face. “It was advertised as a sex act,” she told him. 

Geralt looked a little less confused, but no less pleased. 

“Relax,” Jaskier pulled a loose tunic over his head. “I didn’t figure it something either of you were interested in, so you don’t have to worry about me pulling out ropes, or silks…” he trailed off, cocking his head to the side while staring at them before giving a shake. “No. I’ll bring the food to the bedroom. Darlings, don’t dilly dally before dinner, no delightful dalliances either.” 

She slowly dragged her nails down Geralt’s chest. “I can think of something else that starts with _D_.” 

“Yennefer!” Jaskier gasped, rocking back on his feet, the back of his hand to his forehead. “How scandalous. People will talk.” 

“They already talk about the three of us.” 

Jaskier wore a very satisfied smirk. “As they should.” 

Geralt wiped a wet hand down his own face. “Fuck.” 

“Go on, before he decides to drown himself,” Yennifer teased. 

“What a stupid way for a witcher to—” Jaskier planted his hands on his hips as Geralt slowly slipped lower, holding his breath, and glaring at Jaskier until the water got to his eyes, and he shut them before slipping under. “And he calls us dramatic!” 

It was odd, to find her heart so full after such a trial, but they made her feel safe, cared for, adored, and _happy_.

“Don’t be long,” she said softly. 

Jaskier paused at the door. “Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.”

Geralt popped his head back above water the moment the door shut. She booped his nose, and he went cross-eyed following the movement. A huffed breath of laughter escaped her lungs before she stood. “Come.” She held her hand out to him. “I don’t want to be separated from either of you.” 

“You going to join us on the path?” While he took her hand, she felt none of his weight as he rose. 

“Hmm,” she replied. The three of them travelling together again? That sounded perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/DaydreamsGolden)


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